sex: life
by breadandchoc
Summary: VEvey. A series of 100 word drabbles focused around sexual themes. Heed the rating.
1. sex: first time

_A collection of writing impulses heavy on sensuality and M-rating. Sex is always referred to, whether obliquely or centering around it. You've been warned; its PWP and blatantly so._

_Thanks for all feedback. Btw, prompts are welcome._

* * *

When V fucks her, he does it mostly from behind.

It allows for more spontaneous sex and besides, blindfolds make her claustrophobic, drugs her reactions. The first time is unplanned, wild and sweetly forbidden against the wall. She can't muffle her cries as he rides her from behind- raw throat noises.

She doesn't think of looking till it is over – she is too_ distracted_- and by the time she does, V is gone. Evey learns to touch without looking and pretend sleep after sex so he stays.

Like most things they do, it is a reversal of roles, and works.


	2. sex: fixtation

_fixation_

* * *

Evey often sleepwalks after she is released, her newborn body still weak from trauma. It must be sleepwalking, for who goes to her torturer's bed when waking in the middle of the night, shaking from half-dreams?

V tastes the sleep in her mouth as she presses against him, urgent and mewing. He tries to pull away, from the fisted palms on his chest, her liquid rhythms. Away from the insistent press of lips, his naked fingers on her inner thigh.

He tries, but he is human too and can't resist; they move in the shadows, each intoxicated with their dreams.


	3. sex: doubleset

_Btw, this collection is based on a selective compilation of a psych-disorder theme-set and a set of sexual-categories. It seemed appropriate. Thanks for all feedback._

_rationalization_

* * *

V tries to impress on her the chasm of their difference. How the only thing they share is the country they live in. How they are lifetimes apart, born of fire and rain, of hate and lo—something else. How this is _cannot work._

_Stockholm Syndrome,_ he says, strange and ironic.

_No._

_You will regret this._

_Maybe._

_This will hurt only you in the end, Evey._

She doesn't say anything. Her hands are cool and steady on his chest. Feels the beat of his life quicken, channeling the tightening of her heart. World fading. They are their own country.

_Yes. _

* * *

_seperation anxiety _

V almost has her right then, Revolution be damned, when she returns at last. Lovely and hard. Vulnerable and unreadable. Longing suddenly suffocating, her presence an open wound.

'Dance with me,' he manages, a last request.

Her eyes are young and wise when she moves to him. Unsmiling, as their fingertips meet, light as a held breath. They move to the jukebox, unspoken things caught between.

Then Evey puts her head on his chest and speaks the words like an insult.

'I hate you,' she murmurs.

Gunpowder underfoot.

'I missed you.'

Catch in breath.

'I ne—'

Revolution nearly damned.


	4. sex: doubleset II

_Thanks for all feedback. :)_

_

* * *

_

_collective unconscious _

She wakes in darkness, as always. Blackness muffling everything. Sheets beside her empty and cool beneath palm.

'Go to _sleep_,' V grates out. Evey blindly follows the bed's dip and wraps her arms around his neck when she finds him at the edge. Back taunt as steel wire when she leans against him, a quiet appeal pressed into the hollow of his throat.

V tenses so much she thinks he might throw her out.

Then, an exhalation- violent suddenness, fingerprint bruising on arms, his mouth on hers, rough and desperate.

Two nights later, its Evey's turn: night-memories and sex, interchangeable.

_

* * *

multiple personality (set during Evey's torture)_

_--and you consider raping her, give serious thought, scouring it with same ruthless precision when carving scarlet-justice in muscle and skin, merciless; nothing too much when the end justifies the means, the scars _she will commit to_ for the _rest of her life_ inflamed over old cattle-marking, doesn't matter! and one day, like an epiphany before an apocalypse, she, ablaze in cold illumination, an angel!-- not flesh wounds but trophies of the soul to be _borne_, bared to the _world_, existence like the wrath of God, like you; _yes,_ now! you'll do it, you—_

---

Double-dosage today.

Headaches won't shut up.


	5. sex: free association

_free association_

* * *

Evey learned to free-associate in primary school. A dry record playing in the afternoon-drenched restlessness, words like _important _and _goals_ and _chancellor_ rattling like a string of beads. A classroom of ink-splotched hands scribbling furiously, barely legible in effort to keep up. Writing anything, no time to think:

_mum dad/family together/scary ol--_

The only time they hadn't been told what to write; men in black collected their papers, their teacher's face paper-white.

Now V is above her, in her, world climaxing, gasping her name like a secret in staccato. And losing everything, no time to pretend:

Yes, Evey cries— _yours/yours/yours._


	6. sex: denial

_Couldn't be bothered to cut it down to size this time, just enough for a nice rounding--150 words. _

_denial_

* * *

Evey has spikes of cruelty sometimes. They both have their little urges; make nothing of it. Because it is so easy to want to hurt him, when he is cause and target. So easy to like it.

_Stockholm Syndrome_, she wants to remind even as her legs twine around his waist, arms tight around neck, body language treacherous and needy. _You're making me a whore,_ she mouths against the side of his neck, sudden rage like lust poisoned. Repeating words not meant to be remembered; she should know better, when torturer and lover are lifetimes apart, not the same…

V draws her close, rhythm of their breathing in intimate morse code; she is yearning for more, incomplete, drowning in linen and touch. _Bastard_, Evey thinks between hazy kisses, raw as a love letter-- _you sadistic beautiful _bastard.

Then V stills, motionless as death, and she realizes she has spoken aloud.


End file.
